


Promises

by goodworkperky



Category: Captain America (Movies), captain amer
Genre: Implied Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 19:13:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1910493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodworkperky/pseuds/goodworkperky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I’m fine," Sam says automatically. And when Bucky calls his name again, Sam’s breath hitches. "Don’t. Please, Bucky, don’t make me…" Voice catches and he muffles a sob in the knuckle of clenched fists.</p><p>In which, Sam doesn't want to talk about his own personal demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promises

**Author's Note:**

> Pulled from my tumblr: goodworkperky

Sam keeps Riley’s dog tags in the bedside table drawer. Like little hopeful keepstakes, they are nestled between the bible his mother gave him and a battered set of prayer beads he picked up on his first tour. He doesn’t know that Bucky knows, that Bucky held the tags up in the early morning light when Sam was dead asleep, metal clinking against metal, thumb lightly tracing over the edge. Bucky knows that a little buried part of Sam still hopes it’s just a nightmare. The feeling is familiar. 

Bucky doesn’t know that Sam’s buried a little part of Riley’s death inside the inner most parts of him, tried to make himself forget watching Riley fall from the sky and wondering when it will be his turn. Bucky doesn’t know that Sam’s shoved never ending screams deep inside himself, swallowed cries again and again until it feels like he has to force it down with a fist. On bad days, words like “I’m fine” are vomited up with a false sincerity that he’s practiced until perfect and entirely believable. 

It’s three in the morning and Bucky’s in a dreamless sleep. And maybe it’s because he’s a light sleeper, maybe it’s because he’s always known this moment would happen. But he wakes with a start, the bedroom dead still and too dark for him to quite yet figure out why he’s startled to consciousness. There comes a hitch in breath on the inhale, a soft hiccup. Bucky turns quickly, silently. Organic hand reaches out in the dark. The sheets are still so warm beneath his palm. But it’s all empty space that leaves a subtle ache in his chest. He keeps reaching because he can still hear unsteady breathing. Fingertips slid over the edge of the bed and come to rest on his partner’s neck.

Sam’s sitting on the floor with back pressed against the bed, knees drawn up and fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as if he could stop the flood of emotions . Bucky feels his name roll off his tongue before he even has time to process, worry coloring his voice in broad strokes. 

"I’m fine," Sam says automatically. And when Bucky calls his name again, Sam’s breath hitches. "Don’t. Please, Bucky, don’t make me…" Voice catches and he muffles a sob in the knuckle of clenched fists.

Bucky slides from beneath the comfort of the sheets and sits beside Sam, so close there is no space between. He doesn’t know what to do. Offering comfort is as foreign to him as astrophysics. So he mimics. Metal arm goes around Sam’s shaking shoulders, and he twists to hold him closer still. “Sam,” he breathes like a uncertain prayer. “I won’t. I won’t make you.” He’s sorry—so sorry because he is worthless at this, can’t give Sam what he needs, can’t be what he deserves. His movements are paltry reflection of when Sam holds hims after a a hallucination. It’s not enough.

Sam pulls away and pushes himself to his feet. “It’s not to early for breakfast, it it? Maybe a run first.” He sniffs hard and is already reaching for his sweatshirt and shorts. 

Bucky stands when he does. He hesitates slightly before he grabs hold of Sam’s wrist. “I’m trying—I want to help, Sam. Please. Tell me what to do.” There are only shadows and he can’t see the expression written on the other’s face. Bucky gets nervous as the silence grows. 

Without a word, Sam presses himself against his partner. Knees give under a weight that he can’t bear anymore. But Bucky can hold him up. Bucky can carry them both if Sam needs him to. 

"I can’t do it," Sam says as he holds him so tight Bucky thinks his bones might crack. "Don’t make me lose you. Promise me, James."

Bucky’s startled for a second at the use of his name. But his shoulders drop and he kisses Sam on the cheek. Hands running soothing circles over the broad back. It’s not a promise he knows for certain he can keep, and he says, “Only if you promise the same.”


End file.
